


In Caverns Deep

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship, POV Minor Character, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of Celebrimbor Fëanorian in Nargothrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Caverns Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



> I was so happy when I got to write about Celebrimbor :D He's one of my favourites! Hope you enjoy, dear recip, and happy NPT!

They came to Nargothrond in the dead of night. There was no need to hammer on the doors or otherwise announce their presence; scouts had spotted them miles back and discreetly escorted them – and, to be truthful, guided them – on their way to the city. Now a small delegation made their way down the narrow path toward the gate, while the rest of the host set up camp to wait on the plains above.

Celebrimbor had expected to be left with the host in case they needed a leader in emergency, but his father had insisted he accompany them. He still didn’t quite know why.

The noise of the river was deafening in the enclosed quarters, loud enough that he could no longer hear the clip of his horse’s hooves on the smooth rock of the path. Armoured and helmed guardsmen had appeared seemingly out of nowhere at the beginning of the path, and now rode before and after them in neat file. Celebrimbor could feel the weight of their gazes on his back.

His father looked serene and at ease. Celebrimbor knew him well enough to know that this was all an act, though. He hadn’t been very happy about coming here. On his father’s other side, Celegorm seemed outwardly stoic, but Celebrimbor could see him twisting the leather of his reins around one hand. Was he nervous? Possibly. This had been his idea; Curufin would blame him if it failed.

Celebrimbor was much less qualified than they to judge whether it would fail or not, and he was nervous because of it. He felt like he barely knew any of this side of the family. Uncle Fingon visited Himring almost as often as he did, so they were well acquainted, but he had not seen Turgon or any of the Arafinwëans for what felt like a lifetime. He had memories of them from when they all lived around Lake Mithrim, but that was a long, long time ago.

_Why could we not have gone to Himring like father suggested_ , Celebrimbor lamented for perhaps the thousandth time.

The great doors, when they reached them, were very impressive. A tall elf was standing outside, a standard bearer behind him, holding Finrod’s banner aloft. “My lords,” he said, executing a graceful bow. “Nargothrond bids you welcome. Word has been sent to King Finrod; he will arrive very soon.”

His father and uncle swung down from their horses, so he did the same. As they passed them off to servants Celebrimbor leaned over and hissed to his father, “Is this what you expected?”

“Greetings from a steward? It is hardly that much to be offended by, this late at night,” Curufin said casually. “Besides, Findaráto always did like his sleep.”

They came forward to meet the steward, and Celebrimbor let them do the talking. He still wasn’t certain where he fit into all this, aside from tagging along after his father.

A runner soon appeared and whispered something into the steward’s ear, and the man nodded before gesturing behind him. “Word has come from the King to open the gates, and invite your people inside,” he said. “He will arrive shortly.”

“He is certainly taking his time,” Celegorm muttered once the steward was out of earshot.

“At least he has not barred the gates,” Curufin said drily. “Tyelpë, go back to the host and order the first few ranks to descend the path. I think we are being welcomed inside.”

Celebrimbor motioned to his servant. “I will impart the good news,” he said as he swung back up onto his horse.

“Well, what we hope is the good news,” Celegorm snorted, before sending him off with a smack to the horse’s rump.

_I wish he_ wouldn’t _do that_ , Celebrimbor thought with irritation as his horse raced off for a few strides before he pulled her back to a more measured pace.

/

The news was good; by the time Celebrimbor returned at the head of their host, his father and uncle had already been greeted by Finrod and had arranged their entry into the city. They were talking near the gates when Celebrimbor rode in at the head of the column. His father motioned him over with a wave. “Tyelpë, come meet the King of Nargothrond,” he said with a smile.

Celebrimbor let Celegorm take the reins of his horse and made a bow before the familiar and yet now different figure. “Your majesty,” he said quietly, not quite sure how else to address him.

Finrod laughed. “You used to call me uncle, young one,” he said, stepping forward to lay a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “But we have not seen each other in a long time. You have grown very tall since then!”

“Not as tall as some,” Celebrimbor said with a small smile.

Finrod chuckled. “Yes, I forget, one must never be able to consider themselves tall while living around a giant such as Maitimo.” He looked over his shoulder and his face brightened. “Ah! Here she is. Atarinkë, Tyelkormo, Telperinquar, meet my niece, Finduilas.”

A young woman with white-blonde hair and a pretty face appeared next to him and sketched a graceful curtsey. “Forgive me for not being here sooner,” she murmured.

Celebrimbor thought there might be something of Orodreth in her face, but it had been so long since he last saw him that he found it hard to be sure. “It is a pleasure,” he said, returning her curtsey with a bow.

“Well at least we all know our formalities,” Curufin said with a smirk. “Lovely to finally meet you, my dear.”

Celegorm just nodded, but Finduilas seemed to accept this. “I am sure you must be eager to settle in,” she said, looking pointedly at her uncle.

Finrod clasped his hands together. “Yes, of course. We should talk business, accommodation and such.” He touched a hand to Curufin’s elbow, who allowed himself to be guided away, Celegorm following in their wake.

Celebrimbor, left alone with his new cousin, tried his best not to let his weariness show. “I am sorry for pulling you from your bed at this late hour,” he said quietly.

Finduilas seemed less reserved than she had only a few moments before. “No trouble,” she said, observing him with a curious look in her eye. “I had been wondering about you, anyway.”

“Wondering?” he questioned.

“We knew you were coming.”

“Obviously.”

She smiled. “Well, I wondered.” Elaborating no more than that, she turned smartly and extended a hand back to him. “You must be tired and hungry, and since I am also hungry, I think we should make a trip to the kitchens. Are you willing?”

_Curious_ , Celebrimbor thought to himself, but reached out and took her hand. “For a beautiful lady such as yourself? Always.”

Her laughter seemed very bright in the dark hallway. “Trying to flatter me now! Well, it will not work. Come.” She led him off deeper into the tunnels. They seemed to close over his head, and he tried not to look up at the ceiling uncomfortably.

She, however, must have been used to sensing people’s discomfort. “You will come to like it,” she assured him. “Or, if not, you will at least get used to it.”

“I will hold you to your word.”

She laughed easily, he thought. “Fine! I do have experience with such matters, after all.”

“You must like it here, to have stayed while your father is at Tol Sirion.”

Finduilas shrugged her thin shoulders. “Nargothrond is much more appealing than the tower, trust me. And more interesting by a league. For one thing, there are three times as many people. Tol Sirion is a small garrison, you understand.”

“And no place for a lady?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can handle a blade if the need truly arises, thank you.”

“I never said you could not.”

She eyed him, and then smiled slowly. “I had heard there were more shieldmaidens among the Fëanorians. Is it true, then?”

He sighed, his mind suddenly dragged back to heavy thoughts. “Yes. Every arm able to lift a blade is trained to use one. We need as many as possible to guard from the darkness in the North.” _Needed_ , his mind thought, _we_ needed _as many as possible. And they still were not enough._

Finduilas touched his arm, her face concerned. “Are you alright?”

He tried for a smile, for her. “Yes. My apologies. Fëanorians have more shieldmaidens, and are also more apt to brood on their sorrows.”

She returned his small smile. “Then I shall have to do my utmost to distract you.”

/

A hand was shaking him awake. As he moved closer to consciousness a sudden fear gripped him; the last time he’d been woken in such a manner, they had been under attack.

Then a familiar voice spoke to him out of the darkness beyond his closed eyes. “Wake up, sleepy head! Come on, Tyelpë.”

He opened his eyes to see his cousin leaning over him. His familiar, well-loved, close-as-a-brother cousin. Erestor was smiling as he leaned forward, long dark hair falling in two curtains around his face. “We are going to take Huan on a walk,” he grinned.

Celebrimbor groaned and shut his eyes. _That_ was familiar enough. Whether the whole journey to and acceptance into Nargothrond had been a dream, or whether he was dreaming now, he didn’t know, but he knew one thing; his reluctance to take his uncle’s dog for a walk had not diminished. “Go by yourself,” he said grumpily, just like he always did. He knew that, just like always, his cousin would not be swayed.

“I cannot go,” Erestor’s voice said softly. Surprised, Celebrimbor opened his eyes. His cousin was looking at him sorrowfully. “You have to go alone,” Erestor continued, “Huan is with you, now. I am too far away.”

“So this is the dream,” Celebrimbor murmured. Despite their warm welcome, he still wished it had been the opposite way around.

He didn’t have time to see Erestor nod before he woke up.

/

They had been in Nargothrond for a few weeks on the day Finduilas sat down opposite him at breakfast and gave him a long, considering look. She didn’t speak, and Celebrimbor didn’t ask. He’d learnt in the short time he’d known her that she usually offered her own explanations, if you waited long enough.

“You seem tired,” she said eventually.

“I have troubled sleep,” he admitted. It surprised him how freely he said it; he hadn’t even told his father he was suffering from dreams.

“Nightmares?” Finduilas asked.

“Surprisingly no,” he said. “Well, a very few. Mostly I dream of home, and those I have left behind.”

“Those you lost?” Finduilas asked sympathetically.

He nodded. “And those who are far from here, and who I am unlikely to see for a very long time.”

“Your uncles?” she questioned.

“Yes, I dream of them often. And my cousin.”

Finduilas frowned, a look of concentration on her face. Celebrimbor suppressed a smile, guessing that she was mentally working through their convoluted family tree. “Which cousin is that?” she eventually asked, defeated.

“Erestor. He is uncle Pityo’s son.”

“Oh.” Finduilas paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I think uncle mentioned him.”

“He hasn’t met many on this side of the family. He was born in Estolad, after we all moved east.”

Finduilas nodded. “And you were close?”

“We met often at Himring, and then uncle Maitimo appointed him as his castellan, so he stayed there permanently.”

“He must be alive, then? If he was the castellan, it would fall to him to defend the castle, not fight in the field.”

Celebrimbor sighed deeply. “That is what I hope. In truth, since we ran from Himlad, we have had little word. All I know is that Himring did not fall, and my uncles Maitimo and Macalaurë survived. An eagle who had observed the carnage told us this, and he knew no more.”

Finduilas put a comforting hand on his arm. “We are still in contact with Barad Eithel. The riders are not frequent, but we can ask for more information.”

Celebrimbor smiled at her. “That would be a great comfort.”

/

Finduilas came to him with news of Erestor’s safety within the next two weeks, and with the tidings from the East there seemed to come a measure of peace. The months passed and Celebrimbor and his people established themselves in Nargothrond; he began to craft again, creating beautiful pieces in the deep caverns, and his people prospered. Life settled into a rhythm that soon became familiar.

Everything changed with the arrival of the Man. Celebrimbor had never had the gift of Sight, but one didn’t need it to see the tension that was growing in the city.

Finduilas came to him one night while he stood alone on one of the few hidden galleries that overlooked the crashing river. “I fear for us,” was all she said. She made no mention of what she feared, but Celebrimbor suspected he could guess.

“Ill fate clings to the man Beren like a cloak of shadow.”

“You can sense it?”

“Not in the same way Uncle Findaráto can. _Should_ be able to.”

Finduilas looked down, her expression dark. “I think he can sense it. He is ignoring it, though I do not know why.”

Celebrimbor looked up in the direction of the hidden sky. “We can only pray for him.”

Prayers were, in the end, not enough. Celebrimbor comforted Finduilas when news of their uncle’s death reached them; and when her father called him to a private meeting, he was too distracted to think of why.

Orodreth didn’t bother with subtlety. “I want you to leave,” was his opening statement.

The very idea rocked the foundations of Celebrimbor’s fragile hold on composure. Leave? After everything they had build here?

He was aware of only small parts of the other’s conversation, merely scattered words, as if he heard it in a dream.

“…nothing else we…is dead…”

“…no ‘if’…sent him out there…”

“…could…prevented him...”

“…you wanted to…did not…”

 “…Artaresto…accusation…”

Orodreth’s final words, though, he heard with absolute clarity.

“Enough,” he spat, his face tight with rarely glimpsed rage. “I want you to leave. By sunset. And no one else wishes you to stay, so do not think of trying. Be gone by then and I shall let you leave with your lives, little though you deserve them.”

He would, Celebrimbor thought, remember those words until the day he died.

/

He entered his father’s room in a state of shock. Curufin was packing, angrily throwing things into a bag. “He is forcing us to leave,” Celebrimbor said slowly, still unable to quite believe it.

“Not all of us,” Curufin snapped, “You have leave to stay. If you wish it.”

Celebrimbor stared at him. “When did-”

“Artaresto said as much when we were speaking with him. Were you asleep? Anyway, what does it matter?”

Celebrimbor frowned. “Why would it not matter?”

Curufin snorted. “You will not be taking him up on his offer, will you?”

Celebrimbor was almost shocked by the surety in his father’s voice; the arrogance that just expected Celebrimbor to agree, to follow obediently behind his father as he always had. It was something that had always been there, really, and he had accepted it, had almost heard it without hearing it. But now it stood out like a broken string on a harp.

He had changed in Nargothrond. He had tasted being a leader, living and working only for himself. His collaborations with other craftsmen had led him further from his father’s side than ever, for all that Curufin was an active participant in the craftsmanship as well.

Still, he didn’t quite have the nerve to voice this to his father straight away. “Where will you go?” he asked instead.

“Himring, of course,” Curufin said, not seeming to notice Celebrimbor’s use of ‘you’ instead of ‘we’. He was stuffing cloaks into his bag, scowling.

_Himring_. The very word filled Celebrimbor with longing. He had made a home here in Nargothrond, but Himring…Himring was home too. Himring was memories of blisteringly cold winters warmed by the family gathered; Himring was long-lost friends and companions, shield-brothers and sisters he hadn’t seen for what felt like an age; Himring was fond memories and people he had known for lifetimes. Himring was _Fëanorian_ , and it evoked a sense of belonging so powerful he could almost feel it in his blood.

But Nargothrond had become dear to him too. His friends and apprentices in the forge, the poets and singers. Finduilas, who would need his support in this troubled time. Even the layout of the place, the twisting caverns to endlessly explore, all tucked so secretively away into the rock.

But in Himring, faces he had missed like open wounds beckoned, tempting.

“What are you still doing here?” Curufin snapped, breaking into his thoughts. “We have to leave. Go and pack your things.”

The thoughts of Himring faded in his mind. His father, as much as he admired him, had committed deeds he found morally reprehensible. Could he really go with him, which would be taken to be a gesture of support for his actions, just because he wanted to see Himring again?

Celebrimbor knew his answer. “No, father,” he said, injecting into his voice a confidence he didn’t really feel. “I cannot come with you. I will take up Orodreth’s offer to stay.”

Curufin went unnaturally still, pausing in his work completely. A few seconds of tense silence followed. “What?” Curufin eventually bit out, slowly turning to face him.

Celebrimbor squared his shoulders. “Uncle Findaráto might not have died if you had not turned the people against him. I cannot go with you, father, and be seen to support your actions here.”

Curufin stared at him, his expression unreadable, for a very long time. Celebrimbor forced himself not to look away. “We are going back to Himring,” Curufin started slowly.

Celebrimbor waved an impatient hand. “I know where you are going. If I wished to return so badly, I would of my own accord.”

Curufin considered him for another few long moments, and then surprised Celebrimbor. Instead of snapping, spitting angry curses, he simply nodded. “You have been old enough to make decisions yourself for a long time, my son,” he said quietly. “If you wish to abandon us and stay in this rat’s nest, be my guest.”

Celebrimbor winced. He should have known an insult would be forthcoming. He didn’t rise to the bait. “Farewell, father. Have a safe journey.”

Curufin gave him one last long, searching look, then turned away. “I suppose I shall give your uncles and cousin your shallow regards,” he said over his shoulder.

The words stung, and the thought of his family’s reaction to Curufin and Celegorm arriving alone hurt more, but Celebrimbor didn’t falter. He turned away and walked from the room, his steps purposeful.

The first thing to do, he supposed, would be to find Orodreth and announce his intention to stay.

Finduilas, he hoped, would be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I did originally have more material planned for this, but I found I liked the way this focused on a handful of moments more. Who knows, maybe one day I'll write out some of the other bits for something else ;)
> 
> I have written about Celegorm, Curufin and Celebrimbor's entrance to Nargothrond before in _Going Down In Sight Of Land_ ; hopefully they both match up! Erestor being the son of Amrod is entirely my own invention. 
> 
> All feedback is enjoyed and welcomed :D Thanks for reading!


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